


Teaching Moments

by scullymurphy



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - 1980s, Alternate Universe - Muggle, Alternate Universe - Summer Camp, Archery, Drawing, Enthusiastic Consent, F/M, Fireflies, First Love, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, I think this is the first Millie/Oliver fic to exist, Pining, Rare Characters, Rare Pairings, Romance, Sweet, Uniforms, night swimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-24
Updated: 2020-05-24
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:49:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24356101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scullymurphy/pseuds/scullymurphy
Summary: They sped up and the warm wind really began to move through the car, picking up Millie’s hair and swirling it around her face. “Aack!” she gave a little cry of dismay as she tried to rein it in, twisting it down to the side and holding it there.Oliver glanced at her. “Your hair is a real, true black,” he said. “No brown at all. It’s almost blue in the sun.”Millie’s mouth dropped open in surprise. He had noticed her hair? Enough to note the specifics of the color? Her mind was reeling, but all her mouth could say was, “Yeah. It’s really dark.”“Yeah.” He looked at the road again, squinting against the brightness of the midday sun. “It’s really beautiful.”
Relationships: Millicent Bulstrode/Oliver Wood
Comments: 82
Kudos: 125
Collections: RPSF 2020: Summer Camp





	Teaching Moments

**DAY 1**

_**Fig. 1: "Rotation is Key"** _

Millicent Bulstrode trudged up the rickety wooden cabin steps and slammed open the screen door. She also threw her duffel bag down with such force that it bounced on the nearest (shitty, thin, creaky) bed. So much for thinking quarters would be nicer now that she was a counselor.

A counselor.

A fucking camp counselor.

At fucking Camp Pigwidgeon.

HOW.

 _How_ had it come to this? She dropped to the nearest bed, disturbing a puff of dust that danced in the sunlight filtering through one of the small, dirty windows. How had she come to be sitting here, itchy wool digging into her thighs _through_ the thick denim of her jeans, said dust blending with the mold to create that particular bouquet that would remind her for the rest of her fucking days of being miserable, homesick and bored out of her mind?

She flopped back and groaned.

The mechanics were simple enough: a train, two busses and a half mile walk. Just this morning she had been in Manhattan, although that seemed like an impossible dream now. Just last week she had thought she'd be spending her summer there, working part time at the coffee shop and full time on her art.

But Vanessa had had different plans. That was the real 'how'.

"YOU SIGNED ME UP TO BE A COUNSELOR!?" Millie usually kept rigidly controlled in all dealings with her mother—if Vanessa found her 'difficult,' things never went well—but she hadn't been able to contain herself. So the conversation had started poorly, with Vanessa pursing her lips and getting that stubborn set to her eyes.

"It will be fun darling. Just think, a counselor! After so many years as a camper."

"But I absolutely HATE camp!" Millie had heard the petulance in her voice and knew she sounded about 12 years old, but she couldn't help it. Camp Pigwidgeon had been the bane of her summers for seven years; the site of countless discomforts, humiliations—tiny deaths by a thousand cuts of shame. Her mind had flipped painfully to a memory of her younger self, huffing up a hill, last in her hiking group, thighs chafed raw against the hard cotton hem of her camp shorts, feeling like she was going to DIE; some bored counselor trailing up the hill behind her, his exasperation and disgust almost palpable, while other kids actually passed her on their way back down the hill. " _Please_ , mother—" she'd started.

"It would be really great if you wouldn't be a bitch about this, Millicent," Vanessa had interrupted, her calm cracking. "I need _space_ to prepare for my show. You know how much this means to me."

 _More like space to bone Julian without any interference_. Vanessa had collected a young gallery manager as part of her preparation for a one woman show at the Saatchi in August. And the show _was_ a pretty big deal, but it was a retrospective—it wasn't like her mother had to _do_ much. And Millie could be very inconspicuous.

Vanessa's nostrils were flaring and her eyes narrowing, so Millicent made a mighty effort to rein herself in, taking a calming breath and speaking quietly, "But I promise you won't even know I'm here. I'll double my hours at the shop. I'll stay over at Flora's three nights a week. You'll never see me." _Just please, please let me stay_.

Of course she'd lost the fight, which had turned into an actual screaming match and resulted in Vanessa threatening to yank her from Pratt the following year if she didn't ' _get the fuck out_ ' by Saturday.

So here she was. Prickly wool, dust and all. Her eyes closed and she didn't bother to look up when the screen door creaked.

"Millicent, I thought that was you." Percy Weasley's clipped tones sounded in the still room.

"Hi Percy," She pulled her shoulders up off the bed.

"Excellent to have you. Always satisfying when a former camper comes back as a counselor." Millie made a strangled noise which he seemed to take as agreement. "I've got your regulation issue here," he said, handing her two folded t-shirts and two pairs of red shorts. She felt actual revulsion as she fingered the stiff crimson cotton. "Size large for all four," he murmured, checking something off on a clipboard.

"Can I actually get an XL for the shorts? I prefer them looser." Millie couldn't look at him.

"Oh, ah." Percy sounded a bit uncertain for once. "That's the biggest size we have." His voice turned overly bright. "Will it work?"

"Yeah it will be fine."

"I'll expect you to wear them at all times except for half days off. Starting tomorrow." He got up and moved to the door. "Campers arrive at 11am, sharp."

Millie grunted her assent and he gave her a salute over his shoulder with his clipboard, already on to the next task.

Grabbing her duffel, Millie stood up off the bed and turned to smooth the blanket behind her. She actually wanted a top bunk for the modicum of privacy. There was one near a window that looked unclaimed, so she threw her bag on it and climbed up after.

She opened the duffel and pulled out her sketchbook and charcoals, then shoved the shorts and Pigwidgeon ringer tees into the farthest corner. She was not going to think about them until she absolutely had to. A din of voices from outside clarified into a bright smattering of excited chatter as it drew closer to the cabin. Millie took a calming breath as the screen door opened again.

🏹

"Come ON." Pansy Parkinson, one of the people who had made Camp Pigwidgeon slightly more tolerable over the years and who was— _thank god_ —also back as a counselor, pulled Millie by the hand out the door of the cabin.

"Where are we going?" Millie complained, but good-naturedly.

"I don't know. Anywhere but that rank fucking bunk room. I hope someone brought incense," Pansy muttered, still towing Millie by the hand down toward the parking lot, where a small crowd seemed to have gathered.

There was Daphne Greengrass, standing next to a girl with beautiful dark hair. Hermione Granger, looking tense, but didn't she always? Harry Potter, who gave Millie a little wave. Percy, of course, with one of his brothers. And was that Neville Longbottom? Millie squinted. It _was_ Neville but he looked really … _wow_. Yeah, he had obviously grown into himself since last year. Millie turned to mention it to Pansy, but something in the look on Pansy's face held her back.

Also at that moment a car—some kind of mid-70's sedan with California plates—pulled into the lot honking, radio blaring. The little group turned as one, then started cheering and waving as a tanned, perfect forearm extended out the driver's side window and made a peace sign.

Millie inhaled sharply and everything seemed to slow down as she watched the car come to a stop, heard the radio cut out, saw the driver's door open. Her fingers curled into her palms and her heartbeat sped up.

She should have prepared herself better for this, but she'd been trying not to think about it. She'd halfway convinced herself that he wouldn't be there. California was so far away. Or maybe it was more that she hoped that things would be different when she saw him—that a year of art school and feeling like she belonged, figuring out her look and her hair and the precise shade of red lipstick that really _worked_ on her, would somehow have swept away the feelings and their intensity.

But no. It didn't seem so.

He moved up out of the car with his athlete's grace, golden and tall, already high-fiving people, giving Neville a brief, fierce hug and shouting over his head to the Weasleys. His shoulders were perfectly straight under a white t-shirt and his hair gleamed deep bronze in the last of the sunlight, although Millie knew it would be shot through with streaks of platinum before the summer was over. She couldn't even see his face yet, but it was etched in her mind—to be honest, it was probably etched deep down in her id where her most fundamental desires resided, no matter how many art school boys and guys in bands she tried to replace him with.

 _Oliver Wood_. Camp Pigwidgeon's perfect golden boy.

Millie's whole body sighed as her brain formed his name. She'd loved him from afar for seven years.

Even Pansy had walked toward the car to say hello, calling out with a rare smile on her face, but Millie stayed rooted to the spot. Her hands going involuntarily to her thighs, smoothing over them in an old, habitual motion. She glanced down and was suddenly really fucking _glad_ she was in her favorite jeans and the dark green shirt that made her eyes look pretty—that he wouldn't see her for the first time in those awful _shorts_. And even as she chastised herself for even thinking remotely in that direction, her palm floated up to her hair, and she pressed her lips together to make sure her lipstick was still there.

Oliver turned in response to Pansy's call and then Millie did see his face and it was like a jolt straight to her heart, _or maybe lower_ : his cheekbones, warm eyes and dark eyebrows, the dimple. He greeted Pans with his brilliant smile, but then he looked past her to Millie.

Millie didn't have time to look away, so their eyes met and she just stood there, unable to move or do anything. His smile dropped from his face and he took a step forward.

" _Millie_?" His head tilted.

The others seemed to fade away and something in his tone, or his posture, his _focus_ , fed that completely improbable notion that had sparked to life a few moments ago. _He was looking at her like there was no one else there, like…_

Then the passenger door of the car opened and the most beautiful girl Millie had ever seen got out.

Millie fell back to earth with a thud. Of course. _Of course_ he would have brought his gorgeous, perfect girlfriend with him from California. And, _Jesus Christ,_ if she wasn't ever Millie's opposite. She was made finely—Millie probably had about eight inches on her—with an exquisitely sculpted face and eyes such a deep blue, it was startling, even from here. _Prussian Blue_ , Mille's artist brain helpfully supplied. Her hair was the lightest shade of gold and her full lips a deep rose—and even though Millie instantly hated her with every cell in her body, her fingers also flexed, itching to sketch her. Because the girl's features weren't just pretty, they were alluring, _compelling_.

Millie also registered with an acute sense of the unfairness of it all that this vision was wearing ratty cut-offs, a t-shirt and scuffed shoes. No effort, no _look_ —and yet she still glowed with an unearthly sheen.

The girl's presence had silenced the crowd, but she glanced around with a sort of bored affect that no one seemed willing to press through. _Even Oliver,_ Millie's surprisingly nasty inner voice noted. But then Percy Weasley stepped forward, holding out his hand with an officious word of welcome, and Millie suddenly couldn't stick around to hear any of it. Instead she spun and walked away toward the cabin, her breath coming hard.

What _the fuck_ had she been thinking?

🏹

"PLEASE, please go. Come on. What the hell else are you going to do? Lie in bed and count mosquitos? Arrange scheduling charts with Percy?" Pansy was standing on the bottom bunk, arms crossed over Mille's bedspread, chin propped on arms.

"Yeah, seriously," Daphne chimed-in from across the room. "It's not like any of us really want to go, but the alternative is too grim." She waved her hand to encompass the cabin interior.

"Speak for yourself!" called Lavender Brown as she brushed a coat of bubblegum pink on her toenails, "I for one have been looking forward to my first counselor party since I was a third year camper. It's a Pigwidgeon tradition!" She capped the polish then rolled onto her stomach and propped her feet behind her, waving them to dry. "Besides, there will be boys and beer."

Pansy glanced at her then rolled her eyes epically at Millie. "Anyway. But you _should_ go. Don't make me endure it without you."

Millie gave her a look. Pansy gave her a look back. "OKAY!" Millie finally huffed, a half smile tugging at her mouth.

Lavender and Daphne cheered and Pansy pumped her fist once in the air, then jumped down. "We leave in ten, bitches," she said as she went out the door.

Millie slid down from her bunk and went to the deeply scratched piece of steel that served as the cabin's mirror. Her round, pale face stared back, long black hair framing it. She pushed pieces of her bangs this way and that, annoyed with herself for being such a coward. It wasn't that she didn't like parties or talking to people or socializing. She actually did. But the thought of having to watch Oliver and his girlfriend… " _Fleur_ ," she'd announced to the room earlier, giving a short wave and dropping her bag on the bed nearest the door before banging out again. " _Wow,_ " Pansy had said, " _she makes me look like the fucking welcome wagon._ " But Millie had understood— _Fleur_ (of course her name would be delicate and French) was probably off to find Oliver—what girlfriend wouldn't want to be tucked up by his side at all times?

Millie sighed in exasperation. She couldn't do anything with this stupid mirror.

"Here, use my Caboodle," Lavender said from her bunk, "that thing is useless."

"Thanks." Millie smiled and sat down across from her, spinning her lipstick up.

"That is such a _perfect_ red on you, Millicent," Lavender said as she applied another coat of mascara over her already darkly clumped lashes. She turned the makeup case toward Millie. "Actually, you're looking really pretty this year. I love your hair too."

Millie snorted, Lavender had always been tactless, but sincere. "Thanks again. I think college agrees with me."

"Oh that's right, you started a year early! I can't wait to get going too. I'm doing early childhood development at Diablo Community in Newark."

"That's great, Lav. You will be so good at that." Millie touched Lavender's arm, feeling a surge of affection for the other girl.

"We ready?" Pansy poked her head in the door.

"Yep." Daphne swung her long legs over her bunk and jumped down.

Lavender bounced up and held her hand out to Millie, her eyes bright. "Let's go!"

🏹

An hour or two into the party and Millie guessed it had been ok. The crowd consisted of a motley, entertaining crew of counselors, townies and other hangers-on. Someone had built a massive fire and someone else had brought cold beer and wine coolers. A boombox was tuned to a local station. The opening notes of _Cruel Summer_ floated out and Millie laughed to herself.

She still hadn't seen Oliver or Fleur. Darkly, she imagined them tangled up in a bunk somewhere, or maybe his car. Then she shook her head, forcing the images away. She'd barely thought about Oliver Wood for the last twelve months, so she wasn't going to let herself get into a jealousy spiral now.

Well, she hadn't thought about him _much_.

Millie frowned and glanced around the fire pit, wishing she had her sketchbook so she could distract herself, and capture the things the flame and shadow were doing to people's faces. There was one guy especially—he had dark hair and a lot of tattoos and his face was so _interesting_. He was sitting next to Draco Malfoy, who would also be a good subject, all points and sharp angles but with some seriously pouty lips.

Millie had introduced herself to Draco when she'd first got there, Pansy having marched off after Lavender, who seemed to be zeroing in on Neville. Millie didn't remember him, so thought he must be new. But within two minutes of talking to him she'd understood a) that his family had owned much of the land in the area for generations; so, b) he'd never needed to attend anything as pedestrian as summer camp; or c) let alone work there.

He'd been distracted though, his eyes cutting across the fire while he put away wine coolers at a fast clip—so she'd excused herself to go say hi to Ginny Weasley. Then she'd grabbed a beer with Harry, sitting on the back tailgate of a truck, legs dangling. He was such a good guy, if only he were a little _taller_ … Millie had laughed to herself and waved him off when the lanky Weasley brother showed up.

And now she was by the fire, three beers in. It was either time to leave—she glanced around for Pansy but didn't see her. Or she could be a good friend and wait. And have a s'more. The marshmallows were right there so she plucked one out of the bag, jammed it on a tarry stick and held it in the flames. She had always been terrible at this. Sure enough, right on the heels of that thought the entire thing went up. Millie blew on it but it was a lost cause. She shook it off into the fire and tried another.

"You've got it way too close to the flames," a voice said from behind her. Millie froze as Oliver peeked his head around her shoulder with his adorable (devastating) smile.

"Hiiiiiiii," she said, like an idiot. Or a hyena. An idiot hyena.

"May I?" he asked, taking the stick gently from her nerveless hand and dropping down next to her. "See you want to put it down where the embers are glowing, but not in the flames themselves. And," the dimple flashed at her, "rotation is key."

Millie just stared at him. His smile widened and he transferred the stick to his other hand. "Also," he slung his arm loosely around her shoulders, " _Hi_." He squeezed her and she caught a heady whiff of Juicy Fruit and white soap, then realized that his hair was damp and that, _god_ , he must have just showered. But he was talking again so she attempted to unjam her senses and listen. "You ran off so fast earlier. I didn't get to see you. How have you been?"

"I uh. . ." Memories of why she ran off jolted her and her eyes darted around, looking for the lovely Fleur. "Where's Fleur?" she blurted. _So smooth_.

He broke off a graham cracker and carefully laid a square of chocolate on it. "Oh, probably back at camp. Reading in her bunk or something. She doesn't like stuff like this." He slid the perfectly browned marshmallow on top of the chocolate, topped it with another cracker and then smashed the whole concoction between his long, brown fingers. Millie bit her lip.

"Here. Try it." He held it out.

"But she doesn't care that you—" Millie took it from him gingerly, "Uh, thanks." He was looking at her expectantly so she took a bite before continuing. It was perfect, the chocolate melting into the goo of the marshmallow, which was toasted through without even a hint of burnt flavor. It was so good that Millie lost her train of thought, closed her eyes and made an involuntary noise somewhere between an mmm and a moan. Immediately mortified, she pried her eyes back open to see him looking at her, his habitual smile gone. She swallowed and looked down, totally flustered. "So Fleur. She's ok with you leaving her alone on the first night in a new place?"

He made a little movement and squinted at her. "She's fine, yeah. She's a loner. Been that way since we were kids." The corner of his mouth lifted up. "And why are you so concerned about my cousin anyway? She can definitely take care of herself."

His cousin? His _cousin_!? What the fuck? Millie's mind ran off in about a million different directions. Her lips moved, but she couldn't form words. Luckily she still had the rest of the s'more, so she shoved it in her mouth to avoid having to speak.

"Ohhh." The dimple was back. "You thought. Ha. _No._ Fleur is my mom's sister's daughter. She lives in LA and she didn't have anything to do this summer, so I convinced her to come out here. I told her it would be the most fun she's ever had."

Millie gave him a sideways glance. He was so precious. And now the fact that he and Fleur were both insanely good-looking made even more sense. Must be in the genes.

"Well, I hope she won't be disappointed," Millie smiled a genuine smile, happiness threading through her veins before she could tamp it down.

"Not a chance." He shook his head once and his white teeth glinted in the firelight again.

**DAY 5**

_**Fig. 2: "Capture the Flag"** _

Millie tugged discreetly at the hem of her shorts where they were riding up on her inner thighs as she followed Fleur and their campers out of the art classroom. _Fucking shorts_. If they didn't exist, camp might be edging towards bearable. Being a counselor was far superior to being a camper for several reasons, and it had been such a pleasant surprise to see Professor Lupin just now—she'd totally forgotten he sometimes taught at Pigwidgeon.

And interestingly, she suspected he had been somewhat more than a surprise for Fleur, who had been quite focused on him. He _was_ very good-looking. She and Fleur chatted about him as they walked their art class campers out to the main lawn for the free period before they would go to lunch.

When they arrived, Millie's eye was, _of course_ , immediately drawn to Oliver, who appeared to be organizing a game of Capture the Flag. The campers gathered around him in an excited mass as he divided them into teams, calling for Neville and Ginny to help. Millie hung back and watched, wishing she could carry her sketchbook at all times.

She hadn't had much of a chance to talk to him after their encounter at the bonfire, which had ended immediately after the s'more incident, when Lavender had plopped down between them and began chattering incessantly. Then things had gotten hectic once the campers had arrived and besides, it was _highly_ likely she'd imagined any intensity between them.

Boys like him didn't notice girls like her in that way. She knew that. No changed hairstyle or coat of lipstick was going to change that. She had to stay realistic.

But that didn't mean she had to stop watching him.

Her eye traveled over him as he jogged to one end of the field to reposition a camper. He was already starting to tan, his skin glowing like satin over his biceps and forearms, the fine hair on them like a dusting of gold. And the shorts looked perfect on _him_. Just then he pulled his t-shirt over his head and tucked it into the back of his waistband. Millie suppressed an involuntary sigh and her fingers itched for her charcoals. _Yeah sure, her_ charcoals.

Maybe the strength of her regard attracted his attention because just then he looked at her.

"Hey Millie!" He waved and started trotting over. His hairline was stained with sweat. "You want to play?"

Ha, no.

"Noo, I think I'll sit out this time." She gave him a weak smile. "I'm doing a tie dye class this afternoon and I need to go make sure everything is set up."

"Wow, that's cool." Millie could hear the campers calling for him to come back, but he stayed, crossing his arms over his pecs in a distracting way. "I haven't seen you in a few days. How's camp going so far?"

"Um, great, yeah." Millie lied through her teeth.

"Fleur said you've been cool to her. Thanks for that. Sometimes she can be a little hard to get to know." He looked off to the dock where Fleur was sitting, her back to the action.

"She's great!" Millie felt the volume of over-enthusiastic response and cringed inwardly, "I mean," she calmed her voice, "I enjoy talking with her. She's smart. And cool."

"Yeah, exactly." He was just looking down at her, a slight smile on his face, and Millie wasn't sure what to do next. His bare-chested proximity was obviously making her stupid. Then, out of the corner of her consciousness she heard the whistling sound of an object moving through air. Oliver's eyes widened and in a very confusing split second she registered an alert look cross his features just before he moved to shield her side, putting up a hand and effortlessly catching the football that had been arcing straight toward her left temple. His brows knit together as he palmed the ball and turned slightly.

"Hey JOSH!" he shouted, as close to anger as she'd ever heard him. "We don't throw things at people when they're not looking, man!" He looked down at her quickly."You all right?"

"Yeah, yeah of course," Millie's hand drifted up to touch the side of her face. That really would have fucking _hurt_ if it had hit her. Not to mention been completely mortifying. She glared at Josh— _little fucker_ —then glanced back at Oliver. "Thank you."

He winked at her, "any time." Smacking the ball with his other hand, he started jogging away. "Also Josh, you really need to work on your spiral. The trick is to let your fingertips stay on the ball as long as possible before you release it. Here, I'll show you."

Millie snorted a soft laugh as she watched him go.

**Day 10**

_**Fig. 3: "Bullseye"** _

"I saw you talking to Oliver the other day," Pansy shielded her eyes and watched the campers as they lined up and raised their bows.

"Yeah," Millie slotted arrows into baskets.

"I think he likes you." Pansy squinted. "Kristi! Pull your bow more taut! You're going to get a burn if you half-ass it!"

"No way," Millie said flatly. She'd already had this conversation with herself.

"Why?"

"Pansy."

"What?" Pansy tilted her head to the side and jutted her chin out, then called out for the campers to release their first volley.

"Look at me." Millie said the words even though she knew Pansy wouldn't get it, standing there tiny and perfect, her slim hips and cute knees actually enhanced by the fucking shorts.

"Yeah?"

"And then bring up in your mind's eye, what _Oliver_ looks like…" Millie laid the sarcasm on thick.

Pansy just blinked at her.

"Guys like him just don't go for girls like me," Millie continued as they watched the campers notch another set of arrows. Pansy started to speak, the look on her face argumentative, but Millie interrupted, "Look, I know I can do OK in certain contexts. I was a fairly decent hit at Pratt this year and I even had an, er, thing, with a guy in a punk band over winter break." She waved her hand. "But guys like Oliver? My brand just doesn't play with the perfect body and face, everybody-loves-them, golden boy, jock types, ok?" Millie tried for flippant, but even she could hear the bitterness coming through.

"I'll concede that—for most jocks," Pansy started, then her eyes narrowed past Millie, "Marcy! Hold the bow higher up! You're gonna shoot straight into the ground!" She made a face, "I will be right back. This is not over," she called over her shoulder as she hurried toward the hapless camper. Millie shrugged to herself. Pansy would never truly understand. She could have anyone she wanted.

Looking down the line Millie saw that another girl— _Beatrice_?—was struggling, so she went to help her. She didn't know how she was going to, though. She was total crap at archery. Always had been.

"Hey, Beatrice," she said as she approached. "I think you need to hold it higher?" She glanced nervously at Pansy to see what she was doing and took the bow from the girl, who was gangly and looked about 50 pounds too light to be holding it. "So you, ah, do it like this." She hitched the bow up uncertainly and pulled back the string. Just as she was about to let the arrow loose she heard a shout from behind the targets.

"Hold!" Pansy yelled down the line. "Ok, Blaise!" she called, waving her arm at the treeline, where Blaise Zabini was emerging with a group of campers with life jackets strapped around their necks.

He held up his hand and led his group over to them. Once they were clear, Pansy gave the signal to start again. Millie looked down to adjust her grip and almost missed Oliver herding the kids at the end of the line, shirt on, but very wet.

"Couple of the kids capsized, so we stopped early," Blaise was saying to Pansy.

"And how did you end up soaked?" Pansy tsked up at Oliver as he approached. He grinned and shook his head back and forth, spattering water droplets like an extremely gorgeous golden retriever puppy. Pansy shrieked and Millie laughed.

"Couldn't let Ethan and Jeremy go in the drink alone, could I?" he gestured to a couple of wet campers who were clearly members of this year's nerd herd; one skinny with a long, scraggly rat tail and the other chubby and grinning at Oliver.

"Yeah man, he jumped right in!" said the chubby one in an awed tone.

Millie shook her head and caught Oliver's eye. He raised his brows at her impishly and she refocused on Beatrice to hide the blush that was suddenly creeping up her neck. "Ok, uh, so Beatrice. You hold the bow like this. And you pull the string back like this."

"Oh my GOD, Millie. You're hopeless!" Pansy's voice cut in, overly-loud and obvious. "I wish _someone_ would teach you how to hold a bow properly."

Millie looked over and shot her friend a filthy glare. Pansy stuck out her tongue and made a very exaggerated face at Oliver's back. He was already walking over.

"Let me help you with your grip," he said, as he approached.

Millie took a deep breath and he stepped behind her, aligning his ( _wet, GOD_ ) body to hers. It did not escape her attention that he was a good deal taller than her. _Probably 6'2", maybe even pushing 6'3"_ , her rat brain eagerly supplied.

"Ok so you want to position the bow here," he ran his hand down her left arm to straighten it and his breath blew against her ear. _Goddammit_. "And then," he actually _reached around her_ to position her other arm, helping her to pull it back. Millie caught Beatrice out of the corner of her eye, looking at them with her mouth hanging open. _I feel you, sister._ "Ok, now, you want to pull back in one smooth motion. And breathe while you do it. Let's try that a few times," He worked her arm back and forth. "In and out. Good." There was dead silence from Pansy and Blaise's direction, and Millie could just _picture_ the look on Pansy's face right about now. "Ok, now let's try the release." His sibilant 's' blew in Millie's ear again and she shivered. And she knew he felt it because there was a tiny grin in his voice as he said, "in, and out, and release!" as she sent the arrow flying. Shockingly, it went straight and true, embedding itself within a few rings of the bullseye.

"Oh my god! I did it!" Millie forgot to be embarrassed, and in her excitement turned to Oliver.

"You did it." He said quietly, smiling down at her. _Oh shit._

"Ok chaps, let's go," Blaise sounded like he was suppressing a laugh as he tried to round up the campers. Oliver turned his head.

"Come on, Oliver!" yelled rat-tail kid.

"Race you, Ethan!" Oliver winked at her and took off, comically acting like he couldn't pull ahead.

Millie turned back to Beatrice and handed her the bow. "You saw what to do." Beatrice just nodded at her with a new sort of respect in her eyes.

Ambling back toward Pansy, Millie tried not to look at her, but Pansy started laughing a low, knowing chuckle as soon as she got close.

"I. Told. You. So."

Millie flipped her off, but she was smiling too.

**Day 11**

_**Fig 4: "Cabin Light"** _

But he couldn't really like her, right?

Millie snorted to herself as she drew bold, anchoring lines on the blank page. The rain was coming down so hard it sounded like it was going to pound through the cabin's tin roof. Nothing like a Pigwidgeon storm—they were the only times at camp she'd ever liked as a kid because it meant she got to stay in the art room all day. You could usually count on at least three or four a summer.

Millie glanced up from where she was hunched over her sketchbook to the ceiling about 4 inches from her head—it really did sound like the rain was trying to get in.

She lowered her eyes and her thoughts returned to their well-worn track—to Pansy's laughing words.

Yeah. _No._

Oliver was just like that. Like that with everyone. Always friendly, unfailingly kind. A Good Guy. There were countless examples: Oliver giving Ethan pointers on his baseball swing after working hours the other night; Oliver helping one of the small girl campers make a lanyard after she had a bout of homesickness; and when Draco Malfoy just hadn't fucking shown up to lead their day hike yesterday, who had stepped in? Then of course poor chubby Jeremy had inevitably lagged behind, and instead of being a jerk, Oliver had rallied him. The kid had smiled all the way up the hill, even though he'd been dead last.

Millie sighed. He was great. Great with misfits and losers—people who were less perfect than him, people who needed him. And she fell firmly into several of those categories, didn't she? He was just trying to build her up, be her friend. Do his Oliver thing.

The lines started to take shape under her quick pencil, revealing the planes of his face and then his beautiful shoulders. It was pretty pathetic how even though she knew all this _in her bones_ , she couldn't stop fucking drawing him. Her fingers just seemed to automatically shade the creases of his smile, the veins in his wrists, the hollows of his clavicles. Professor Lupin had asked to see her book the other day and she'd had to make an excuse. She had nothing to show him except for drawings of Oliver. She tried to tell herself the compulsion was just the artist in her, but that was pretty much bullshit.

_Sigh._

She kept drawing. This one was him and Ethan in the twilight—Ethan's scrawny arms holding the bat all wrong and Oliver bending to gently correct him—but there were a lot more.

Just then the door screeched open and Padma came in, "Hey Millie," she gave a little wave. Millie said hi and glanced down at her while Padma gathered her toothbrush and washcloth, her long, black braid flipping over her shoulder. See, here was a great subject! The light of the bare overhead bulb was really dramatic, casting spiky shadows over Padma's cheeks from her eyelashes.

Millie determinedly flipped a page and started laying down the foundations of the moment before they could skitter away. She could do this, she could. She could think about something other than him. _Draw_ something other than him.

Her hand moved rapidly over the crisp paper and she fell into concentration, barely hearing Padma's cheerful goodbye.

**Day 17**

_**Fig. 5: "Fireflies"** _

Fireflies.

There were so many tonight. Maybe it was the after-effects of the rain. Millie waved her hand through a cloud of them as she walked back to the bunkhouse after dinner. There had been talk of one of those informal counselor get-togethers now that it was dry again, but maybe she would skip it. She was feeling inspired by the beautiful picture the tiny insects were creating. She sped her steps, eager to get to her book. Professor Lupin had been after her to move beyond charcoals, and the deep blues and twinkling yellows of the scene were surreally beautiful.

Also, it would be another chance to not draw Oliver. _Ha._

Millie made it to the bunkhouse before any of the other counselors and quickly climbed up to grab her things. She didn't want anyone trying to convince her to go to the party this time. Even though she did really enjoy the camaraderie by the campfire.

Swinging down, she slipped out the door and took off toward the big playing field. There were some lights rigged up there and she'd need them to see what she was doing. As she rounded the path toward the huge expanse of lush green grass, she heard voices and her heart dropped. _Shit_ , she'd wanted to be alone. Her steps faltered and she considered going somewhere else. But no, if she wanted to be able to see to draw, it would have to be here. She'd give whoever it was a quick wave and then ignore them.

One of the voices broke into laughter as she approached and she realized that no, she actually _wouldn't_ be able to ignore them. Because that was Oliver's laugh. And that was Oliver, standing with someone else on the edge of the field, haloed by the bright light.

Maybe she should just turn around and do this another time.

She started to pivot, but snapped a twig as she moved. Oliver turned and peered toward her, shielding his eyes. "Millie? Is that you?"

Her hand went up slowly, "Yep. Hi. It's me." she called.

"What are you doing out here?" He had started to walk toward her and she noticed he had a golf club in his hand.

"I was going to draw. The fireflies— " she waved her hand at the tiny, winking insects.

"Oh man, yeah. They are so beautiful." Oliver looked around. "You know they don't have them in California? I couldn't imagine a summer without them."

"I did not know that," Millie said, watching him, now completely consumed with the desire to sketch his profile in the deep twilight.

"My brothers and sister and I used to squish them and paint our faces with their guts," the other person piped up from the darkness. He walked into the light and Millie saw it was the tall Weasley brother, the one she barely ever saw. _Ron_. She thought he worked at the camp, but whatever he did was not obvious. "Well," he amended, "not Charlie. He said it was cruel. Or Percy for that matter. He said it was disgusting. But the rest of us would have a blast."

"Hey Ron," Millie said, giving him a little wave. He said hey back.

"So you guys are golfing?" Millie gestured to the clubs in their hands.

"Just practicing our drives," Oliver said. "I told Ron I'd give him some pointers."

"I mean, I'm a pretty good golfer—" Ron started.

"Yeah, yeah, man. You're amazing. _Monster_ drive. You just need to loosen your hips and shift your weight the tiniest bit and you'll get an extra 20 yards. You'll be pro distance at that point," Oliver broke in. Millie unsuccessfully suppressed a laugh and he turned to her with a quizzical smile, "What?"

"Are you good at _every_ sport?" she asked, unable to keep her answering smile off her face.

Ron chuckled. "Yeah, dude."

"Well," Oliver rubbed the back of his neck in an adorable way. "I guess I'm not great at, like, wrestling? Or certain track and field events?"

Ron and Millie looked at each other and burst out laughing.

"I bet he's terrible at bobsledding and table tennis too," Ron deadpanned to Millie. He actually seemed pretty cool.

"And curling," Millie said solemnly, "he's crap at that."

Ron snorted as Oliver cut in, "you know I'm actually a pretty _decent_ ping-pong player," which after a pause set all three of them laughing.

"Hey you want a beer?" Ron said to Millie as he walked over to a golf cart that was parked just off the field. It had a cooler in the back and looked lived-in.

"Sure," Millie said, "And don't let me keep you from what you were doing. I'll just sit down here and draw." She sat and leaned against the light pole, then accepted a cold can from Ron. She thanked him, cracked it and took a deep drink. It tasted good, crisp and sharp against the humid night air. She lowered the can to see Oliver watching her.

Ron cleared his throat. "So, ah, my drive?" he asked, a funny tone in his voice. Millie blushed, glad the light was too weak for anyone to see it.

"Um. Yeah." Oliver shook his head once and turned from Millie to Ron. "So let me just show you."

**Day 20**

_**Fig. 6: "CA Plates"** _

"Oh, and one more thing," Percy looked up from his clipboard to the assembled counselors at the weekly Friday morning meeting. "Our marshmallow shipment came into the post office in town instead of being delivered here." He frowned, "despite my very _clear_ instructions on the shipping form. But anyway, we won't have any for the big sing-along tonight unless someone goes and gets them. Who has a car?" He looked around, "Oliver?"

"Yeah, sure, Percy. Of course."

"Great and why don't you take someone with you to help. It's a very large shipment." Percy looked down at his clipboard again and Millie's heart leaped. She was on general assignment today—the only counselor with no specific classes or activities to run. "Millicent," Percy said, his pale blue eyes flashing up.

"Yes," Millie said a little too quickly. "Yes, I can do it." She saw Pansy's head turn out of the corner of her eye, but refused to look in her direction.

"Excellent," Percy marked something down. "You two can leave as soon as morning activities conclude. But come right back. I'll need you in the afternoon."

Millie nodded and chanced a tiny glance at Oliver. He was leaning back in his seat, arms crossed and legs stretched out, and as she watched the corner of his mouth lifted. Millie's heart fluttered and she pressed her lips together to keep them from doing the same.

🏹

"You changed," Oliver smiled at her as she walked toward where he was standing in the parking lot.

"Yeah," she laughed and looked down at her jeans and boots. _You bet she had fucking changed, practically sprinting back to the cabin the minute morning swimming lessons concluded_. "I'm not a huge fan of the Pigwidgeon uniform."

"Aww come on," he nudged lightly against her shoulder as they turned to walk toward his car. "It's a classic." He was, of course, still in full regalia.

"A classic affront to my fashion sense and comfort, yes," she snorted, and he laughed, his dimple appearing. _Jesus_. "This is you?" she pointed to the 70s sedan with the California plates.

"Yeah I picked it up off my roommate just before Fleur and I drove out here. I never owned a car before, and this one is a beast. It gets about 12 miles to the gallon and it's finicky about starting. Hopefully we'll actually make it out of the parking lot." He opened the door for her and Millie slid in, the smell of hot vinyl enveloping her.

"Well I don't even know how to drive," she said, "so don't expect any expertise from me."

Oliver cocked his head. "Don't know how to drive? We'll have to fix that." He raised a brow as Millie laughed and rolled her eyes, then shut her door and came around to the driver's seat.

He dropped in and pumped the gas pedal a few times, then turned the key, "Here goes nothing." Surprisingly the big old engine leaped to life and Millie gave a little cheer. Oliver flicked his brows at her and rolled down his window. "You must be good luck," he said as he steered them out of the lot.

"Doubtful," she snorted, rolling down her own window and enjoying the feel of the wind on her face. As borderline tolerable as camp had been this summer, it still felt really good to be getting away, even if just for a short time. She glanced over at Oliver, his left elbow on the windowsill and his right hand resting on the steering wheel. The ringed sleeves of the stupid shirt hit his biceps just so and his jawline was gorgeous. Millie shook her head slightly and looked away. _Another_ sketch she'd be compelled to do now. He just looked amazing in every setting.

They sped up and the warm wind really began to move through the car, picking up Millie's hair and swirling it around her face. "Aack!" she gave a little cry of dismay as she tried to rein it in, twisting it down to the side and holding it there.

Oliver glanced at her. "Your hair is a real, true black," he said. "No brown at all. It's almost blue in the sun."

Millie's mouth dropped open in surprise. He had noticed her hair? Enough to note the specifics of the color? Her mind was reeling, but all her mouth could say was, "Yeah. It's really dark."

"Yeah." He looked at the road again, squinting against the brightness of the midday sun. "It's really beautiful."

🏹

Millie had barely had time to get over the beautiful hair comment before they pulled up at the doors of the post office.

"I'll go see what the deal is." Oliver said and sprang out of the car. A few seconds later he poked his head out and motioned her inside. "I'm gonna need some help," he said as she approached the door.

"Of course!" Millie pushed into the cool interior eagerly to see two absolutely huge boxes. Luckily they were also incredibly light, so she and Oliver managed to wrestle/wedge them into the back seat of his car. Once they were in, Oliver straightened up and looked at her speculatively. Millie leaned against the fender of the big sedan and crossed her arms and ankles.

He leaned next to her and nudged her shoulder again. "I'd say we deserve to have lunch somewhere after that herculean task, wouldn't you?"

"Wouldn't that be breaking the rules?" Millie looked at him sideways and raised her brows.

"I think we have some credit in the bank at this point. And also, I don't think I can pass up the chance to eat something other than Pigwidgeon food for once."

Millie's chin dropped and she turned to him, " _Oliver Wood_. Was that a _criticism_ of Camp Pigwidgeon?" It seemed that being in her own clothes and having him call anything of hers beautiful had made her brave enough to be mildly flirtatious.

"Maybe." He turned to her too and propped his elbow on the roof of the car, his smile arch. "I'm not always the good guy, you know."

Millie was glad she was still leaning against the car because she suddenly felt a bit unsteady. "Erm," she made a sort of indistinct sound. "Where should we go?"

He looked down the street. "Fleur told me about a hamburger place. I think it's at the end of this block. You game to do some rule breaking?"

"Yes, absolutely." Millie straightened up and made a valiant attempt to gather her wits, "I mean, it's lunch, not a bank robbery."

He laughed. "Well let's go then."

🏹

"So why UCLA? Why go so far away?" Millie put a perfectly curled and salted french fry in her mouth and savored it.

Oliver took a drag on his shake, "God that is so good." He looked at the cup reverently then back at her. "UCLA. Well, I guess they were the best program that gave me the best package? I mean," he rubbed the back of his neck, "I was recruited by, uh, a few schools."

"A lot of schools."

"Yeah, ok, a lot of schools." He laughed. "And I was given full rides by a few of those."

"A lot of those."

He smiled at her and shook his head. "Yeah. But UCLA was offering the most for the level of program they have. They're top five in the U.S. and a good percentage of players go to the MLB. And I was curious." He balled up his wrapper and shot it toward the trash can. "You know, to live in another part of the country."

"And how do you like it?"

He looked away. "It's _really_ different. I do like it, but I miss home. I definitely want to come back here someday."

"Well, maybe you'll get drafted by the Yankees."

"Nahh, the Mets. National League. Underdogs. You know."

"Of course." She _should_ have known that one. Millie let her gaze rest on him as a rather detailed fantasy centered around her going to see him play at Shea Stadium and him, like, pointing to her in the stands or something, unfolded behind her eyes.

"Millie?"

Oh shit, he had asked her a question. "Sorry. Daydreaming." ( _About you. Cringe_ ). "What was that?"

"I asked how art school is going. I was talking to the professor the other day and he said you're pretty hot stuff there."

Excitement fluttered in her chest. He had asked Lupin about her? "Well, I don't know about that. I mean, I love it and I guess I'm doing pretty well."

"You've always been an amazing artist. I'm glad you're getting recognized for your talent."

"Thank you." Millie felt the warmth of the compliment to her toes.

He smiled at her for a beat then stood up to take their empty trays to the window. "You've been sketching a lot at camp this summer. I'd love to see some of your work."

Ahahahahahhaha. Millie looked up at him, her features frozen. She had exactly two sketches without him in them: the one of Padma and the one of the firefly night that she'd drawn only after she'd done the one of him in profile. And those two were on the same page spread in her book.

"Yeah, for sure!" She said a little too brightly after her overlong pause brought out a small crease between his eyes. "I'm working on a series of—" Millie wracked her brain, "uh, camper portraits! I'll show you a few once they're done." _Shit, now she was going to have to draw a bunch of kids._

"That's awesome. I can't wait to see them." He held out his hand to pull her up off the bench. "Ready to get back?"

"No, not really." She took his hand without even thinking, so was surprised at the jolt she felt when her skin touched his. Her eyes flew up to see him looking at her with that same focus he'd had the first day. He kept ahold of her and the moment slowed down. Millie felt her own inhale. She noticed the sun slanting across his face, waking the bronze tone in his brown eyes and highlighting the gold tips of his dark lashes. He opened his mouth and seemed about to say something.

Then, "Are you guys leaving?" a voice asked from behind Oliver's left shoulder, bringing Millie thumping back to real time. Oliver turned, gently dropping her hand. She felt a tingling warmth where his fingers had been. "Yeah, all yours," he said to what looked like one of the townies who had been at the party the first night. Then he stood still for a moment, slightly turned away, and when he looked back at her, he seemed a little muddled. "Ready to go?" he said again.

"Yes. Ok." Millie said, not actually wanting to go at all.

**Day 25**

_**Fig. 7: "Nightswimming"** _

_It's so fucking hot. It's so fucking hot._ The words looped over and over again in Millie's mind in time to the weak spinning of the shitty ceiling fan. She lay on her bunk and sweated, miserable in the dark. Just like the rainstorms, a summer at Camp Pigwidgeon always featured an unbearable hot spell or two, and this one was a killer. It was near midnight and still stifling—the air felt like a wet blanket pressing down on her sticky body.

She couldn't believe anyone could sleep through this, but the cabin was utterly dark, the only sound the rhythmic breathing of seven other girls. Millie flipped on her side and stared into nothing. There was no way she was sleeping and it was too hot to sketch. Her sweaty hand would just slide all over the paper and smudge everything. She'd just finished her book and didn't want to grope around in the dark for a new one.

What she wouldn't give to slip into cool water right about now… Suddenly she sat up, the thought of water triggering a memory of something Pansy had said the other day. Something about swimming in the dark. That's right— Pansy and Neville had swum out to the island the first night of camp.

Night.

Swimming.

Millie felt excitement thrum through her.

She'd _go fucking swimming_. Why hadn't she thought of it sooner!? She crept down off her bunk as quietly as she could and slipped out the door, grabbing her still-damp suit from the line strung between the cabin and a nearby pine tree. She hurried to the bathhouse, changed and found what looked like a semi-clean towel, then raced out to the path. She could feel the mosquitoes eating her alive as she went, so she moved fast. The lake's dark, satiny sheen came into view and she broke into a run, chucking her flip flops and towel in a heap on the shore before running into the inviting water without hesitation.

The only thing Millie had loved consistently about summer and camp since she was a kid was swimming. She didn't love the swimsuits, no, but the weightlessness, the effortlessness of movement. The fact that she was actually really fast. And she wasn't afraid of the water or what was under it. She imagined herself gliding through like a sleek fish or—as she broke the surface with a gasp—maybe one of the cooler mammals.

She looked around. The crescent moon was high and the stars were so thickly clustered it looked like a glitter bomb had gone off. She already felt about 1000% better and wondered how long she could spend out here before she'd have to head back to the oppressive bunkhouse.

She put the thought out of her mind and started a leisurely backstroke across the swimming area, the drag of the cool water like a smooth caress. The only sound was the swish of her arms breaking the surface and the fluttering ripple of her legs, kicking just underneath. When she got to the soft sand of the shallow end, she stood for a moment, just enjoying the velvety darkness.

Then, she heard something—from the path to the boys side. The sliding and skittering of pebbles that meant someone, or something, was approaching. _Please let it be a raccoon_. Millie was distraught at the idea of having to awkwardly share this with someone and she didn't want to go back early. Childishly, she ducked under the water and swam to the shadowy bit of the shore, where the undergrowth created shadows, to hide and watch.

The pebble crunch coalesced into the sound of steps and then someone came out of the treeline. Millie sucked in her breath, recognizing him immediately. _Oliver_. In his trunks, no shirt, at a run like she had been, but faster. So much faster. It shouldn't surprise her that he could really run, but she didn't think she'd ever seen it—he was so often horsing around with the kids. He went flat out to the end of the dock and stopped at the last second, then threw his head back to look at the stars, chest heaving.

Millie enjoyed the view.

But when he bent to pull off his tennis shoes, she realized she needed to say something. It was creepy enough to lurk in the bushes and watch him, but it could be downright scary if she popped up suddenly once he was in the water.

"Hey," she called softly, before she could think too much. She pushed off from the bank and gave a little wave so he could place her. "Oliver!"

He looked up and across the water, "Millie?" His tone was strange. Not his usual easygoing, smiling thing at all. He sounded almost… frustrated?

"Come on in, the water's fine!" She was immediately horrified that she'd said it. What a _dork_. But it seemed to break whatever tension he was feeling because he laughed and his shoulders dropped. He sat down on the end of the dock, swinging his feet over the water.

"You couldn't sleep either, huh?"

"Nope." She swam closer. "It was about a thousand degrees in the cabin. Just the sound of everyone breathing was irritating me to death."

"Ha. Yeah. Imagine that and then add the pervasive odor of old socks to the mix." He leaned back on his hands and stretched. _Jesus._

Millie laughed. "Yeah, at least we do our laundry fairly regularly." She ducked under the water and back up, letting her hair stream back away from her face. It felt so _good_. "Aren't you coming in?" she asked as she cleared the water from her eyes. When she could see, she saw that he was just looking at her, quite fixedly, his face in shadow. "It really does feel great!" she added, overly bright.

"I'm sure." And there was that tone again, almost curt.

It flashed across Millie's mind that maybe he'd been hoping to be alone too. Maybe he was disappointed to find her here. She opened her mouth to say something about just doing a few more laps before she'd go in, but a loud splash thwarted her intention. She looked around, but he didn't surface, and in the darkness she really couldn't see where he'd gone. The time stretched just a tiny bit long and she started to feel a prickle of worry. She turned in the water, focusing on a point out from the dock where she thought he might be, so she gave a shriek of real surprise when instead he came up with a dramatic surge right in front of her.

"Oh my god! You scared me!" Millie reached out to push him on the shoulder.

"Sorry." He grinned, sweeping his streaming hair back from his forehead. "Couldn't resist." Then his face transformed into a picture of remorseful worry, "Wait you aren't spooked by the water in the dark, are you? Shit, I'm really sorry, Millie." His hand reached toward her.

"No, no! I'm not afraid at all. You were just under for a long time. And I thought you'd be out there." She pointed. "But no, I love the water. And the dark."

"Good." He fell back and tried a few lazy strokes. "God this feels good. And now that I think about it, I remember you being a pretty excellent swimmer. You were in my group, what, two years ago?"

Yes she had been. The painfully awkward summer of 1986. Oliver's first year as a counselor. When her crush had transformed from girlish longing to the sharp hunger of sexual attraction— largely as a result of said swimming group and constant exposure to Oliver's barely clad body. _God, she really was a perv, wasn't she?_

"Yep," she distilled all the feelings those memories brought up into the single syllable and then rolled over into a front crawl.

"Still pretty good I see." He was watching her when she came up a few yards away.

She raised her eyebrows at him, something about the setting making her feel a little reckless. "You want to race?"

His grin sparked again, "Yeah ok. Where to? The island?"

"Like Pansy and Neville?" He nodded. "No thanks, I'm not insane." She laughed, "I mean, I probably _am_ insane to race you at anything, but I'd rather not die tonight, thanks."

"I wouldn't let you die." The playfulness was definitely back in his demeanor and she wondered again where his earlier tension had come from.

"How about to the red buoy and back."

"You're on." He swam closer to her. "Freestyle?"

"Yeah, are you planning on doing something other than the crawl?" She shook her head and gave a short laugh.

"Well, my butterfly is pretty quick too."

"Oh my GOD. Of course it is." She broke into real laughter.

"What?" he swam even closer. Close enough to touch, his face alight with humor.

"You know what!"

"No, I don't." He was just grinning at her now.

"You're just good at everything, ok!" Millie gestured wildly, giddiness suddenly spinning up through her. Some part of her—probably the awkward twelve year old who still dwelled fairly centrally in the part of her brain that controlled a lot of her thoughts and actions—couldn't _believe_ she was in the lake at midnight, with Oliver Wood, laughing easily. If she couldn't have him, at least she could have this.

"That's not true," he was saying.

"Name one thing you aren't good at. Other than 'certain track and field events'." Millie was still cracking up.

He swam really close. "I suck," he held up a finger, "at drawing."

Millie dissolved into laughter, "that's not what I meant and you know it."

"Whatever. Come on! Let's race!" He flipped a tiny splash at her.

"OK!" Millie composed herself. "On the count of three?"

"Count of three."

Of course he beat her, but not by much—and Millie liked that he didn't try to give her a head start or hold back. They'd raced again and again—cycling through all the strokes—and Millie had very nearly beat him at backstroke.

"Damn," he was breathing heavily after they finished. "That is definitely your best one."

"Yup," she gasped. "Always has been."

"Whew, I'm winded," he said rolling onto his back and floating motionlessly.

"Yeah, I might actually get to sleep after all that." Millie watched him, mesmerized. He was so beautiful in the silvery light.

"There is nothing like floating on your back and looking at the stars," he murmured, his face dreamy.

"I wouldn't know," Millie said.

"What?" he popped back into a standing position, brow squinched at her.

"I can't float on my back."

"You have a backstroke like _that_ and you can't float on your back?"

"Nope. I always sink." Milie would usually be embarrassed to share this, (sinking implied _heaviness_ ) but something about this night seemed to have removed her normal inhibitions. "I have a theory that it's, like, a trust thing. I don't trust it for some reason." She trailed her fingertips through the water, enjoying the patterns the ripples made.

"Lean back."

His voice came from behind her and Millie whipped around. "What?" He was so close she almost collided with him.

"We're going to teach you how to float on your back." He had his serious face on now.

"What, no. I really don't. It's _fine_ ," Millie sputtered, suddenly really flustered.

"It's not fine. Floating on your back is not only one of the most pleasurable and relaxing things you can do, but it's also an essential swimming safety technique. I can't believe you've gotten through six— "

"Seven," Millie supplied.

"Seven years of swim tests at Camp Pigwidgeon without being able to do it!"

His tone was really instructor-like now and Millie had to admit it was sort of hot. She decided to go with it, that recklessness taking hold again.

"Ok Counselor Wood," she turned back around. "Show me how."

He made a sort of funny noise behind her and seemed to take a deep breath in. "Ok." He cleared his throat. "Ok. Actually, let's move to shallower water." They swam close to shore to where it was about waist deep and Oliver positioned them so he faced her while she stood sideways. "Now lean back like you're going to start the backstroke. And I'm just going to, ah, put my fingers lightly on your waist and shoulders."

Millie closed her eyes. It was the only way she was going to get through this. She took a breath, dropped backward and immediately started to sink, but then she felt Oliver's fingers creating a support.

"Good," he said softly, "rest on me and let yourself relax. I won't let you go under."

"Ok," Millie said, eyes still closed.

"Now, I want you to tilt your head back, sort of like you're looking behind you. Or trying to wet your hair. And keep breathing." Millie realized she was holding her breath and let it out with a small laugh. She heard his answering smile, "And you might want to open your eyes."

Millie tilted her chin up as he'd instructed and it was like she'd pulled a string that made her body bob up. Her eyes fluttered open to find his. "That really works!"

He was looking down at her, still half smiling. "It really does. Ok now just breathe like this for a bit. I've got you."

Millie focused on her breaths coming in and out and looked up over her head at the stars. It truly was beautiful and relaxing.

"Millie." He said after a couple of moments. She could tell he was still looking down at her.

"Yeah?"

"I'm not holding you anymore."

She focused back on him in total surprise. "You're not! Oh my god, I'm floating!"

"You're floating." The corners of his mouth tugged all the way up. "It's a knack. And now you have it, you'll never forget. Put your legs down and try it yourself now."

Millie did and it was amazing—she just bobbed on the surface in the easiest way—over and over again. "This is incredible," she sighed, letting the water cradle her.

Oliver eased himself onto his back beside her. "It is," he said softly.

They floated quietly like that for a bit, the only sound the singing of the frogs and the crickets. Then Millie heard the water ripple and Oliver stand up. She put her legs down and stood too. He was looking away, up at the shore, his profile so beautiful. She reached out and touched his arm.

"Thank you for that."

He turned back to her and his eyes were dark, his face almost somber. "You're welcome."

Millie couldn't tell if it was the water moving them or what, but suddenly he seemed closer, and she sensed that tension from earlier again. That and something more. She felt like she should say something, but she had no idea what. Her lips parted just as he started to speak.

"Millie, I— " He took a sharp breath in and looked down, then back at her. Millie realized she was holding her breath again. She also realized that she was no longer hearing just crickets and frogs in the night around her. There were voices too. Faint, but growing louder and coming from the path to the boys' cabins.

" _Shit_ ," Oliver swore under his breath, his eyes sweeping up toward the sound.

"Who could it be?" Millie started, feeling a sickly dart of nerves flutter in her stomach.

Oliver raked his hand through his hair. "Probably Cormac. His was the only empty bunk when I left. And he was trying to recruit people to go to the bar in town with him earlier."

"Who went with him?"

"No one. So he probably brought some friends back."

"I don't want to, I'm not..." Millie's desire to get out of there before Bro-ey McBro and his drunk friends showed up was intense.

"Yeah, go." Oliver seemed to read her mind. "I'll divert their attention." He blew out his breath and flicked an irritated glance toward the sounds, which were getting louder.

Millie gave him a last speaking look that she hoped conveyed her thanks and regret, before hustling up out of the water. She grabbed her towel, slung it around her shoulders and ran for the treeline, shoes in hand. She had just hit the top of the path when she heard a shout. She turned, well-camouflaged now, and saw Cormac McLaggan stumble out onto the beach with two other guys she didn't recognize.

"Oliver! Bro!" Cormac's slurred voice rang out. "Is that you? You want to crush some beers?"

Millie heard Oliver's shout of assent, then turned to move up through the trees.

**Day 30**

_**Fig. 8: "Rain Storm"** _

Millie had been doing a lot of daydreaming since the night swimming incident. Just remembering little moments and imagining alternative endings to the evening. What had Oliver been about to say when Cormac showed up?

 _Nothing important,_ her practical side asserted. They were just friends and it hadn't been anything more than a nice time in what happened to be a romantic setting.

Although it didn't help that Oliver had left for a multi-night wilderness hike the next morning and been gone for a few days. There had been no chance to reset with a normal interaction, so her imagination had continued to run wild.

But he would be back today, so she would be cutting the fantasizing and rejoining the real world. When he saw her he'd probably slap her on the shoulder, ask how the floating was going, then run off to help someone with their backhand or volleyball spike or something.

Millie was chuckling at this mental picture as she approached the bulletin board to check her afternoon assignment. She thought it was kickball with Harry, but she wanted to be sure before she trekked out to the diamond. Also, Percy might have switched the activities to something indoor—another rainstorm was supposed to come in.

There was a weirdly large crowd of campers and counselors gathered around the board, so she couldn't get close at first. But when she finally edged through, peering around a particularly tall seventh year boy, she stopped dead, all the blood in her head rushing downward so quickly that she felt dizzy. A sour taste filled her mouth, and something between a gasp and a sob ripped from her throat. She saw faces turn toward her, some laughing, some pitying, Pansy's face— stricken and then furious in quick succession.

Millie took a faltering step forward and the crowd parted. There on the board, obscuring Percy's neat schedule grids and the flyers for activity sign-ups and the water safety notices, were the bold blacks and nuanced grays of her sketches. Plastered side to side and top to bottom, they covered a big part of the board. Oliver had been right — she'd been drawing a lot this summer. And of course, they were all of him. Oliver running, Oliver smiling, Oliver shirtless and gleaming. Oliver looking raptly up at the stars.

Millie made an abortive move forward, but Pansy was already there, carefully but swiftly removing the sketches and stacking them gently. She was biting out words over her shoulder about whoever having done this being punished, being _given KP for the rest of camp and scrubbing the boys' toilets with a fucking toothbrush_. But Millie could barely hear her through the rushing in her ears. She did see Pansy's face twist with anger and focus on something to the left of the board. Millie turned and it was Josh, doubled over and pointing at her.

Of course. Josh. _Little shit._ Yesterday during afternoon canoeing he'd been saying things about Fleur and the professor. Millie had given him a warning, but he'd made one of his insolent comments back and Millie had just snapped. It was like he represented every little shit-eating boy who had ever teased her. He'd been close enough to the dock where she was standing that the strategic wedge of an oar under his boat had flipped him right over. She'd laughed when he'd come up, sputtering. Told him to watch his balance next time. Fleur had even chuckled too, and given Millie a discreet high-five.

But Millie clearly shouldn't have underestimated his vindictiveness. And it was easy enough to know what was important to her and figure out where to find it. He'd probably just meant to destroy her book, but when he saw what was inside he must have known he'd struck gold.

"Hey Counselor Millie," he called out now, "you got a crush on someone?"

A few of the campers giggled, and she distinctly saw Cormac put his hand over his mouth and look away, but most of the faces were sympathetic.

"Grow up, Josh," Millie tossed out as she turned from the board, relieved that even though Oliver would surely hear about this, he wouldn't actually see it. Wouldn't get the full, visual impression of her pathetic ( _and when you saw it laid out that way, borderline creepy_ ) obsession with him. She shook her head and pushed back through the crowd, suddenly needing to get out of there. Pansy had the sketches so she'd just _go_. To her utter dismay, she felt tears pricking at the backs of her eyes, so she sped her steps, looking up only when a hand reached out and gently grabbed her upper arm.

"Millie." Long brown fingers and a kind voice.

Oh _**shit**_.

She looked up even though she really didn't want to. Looked up and knew enough about him, about his demeanor and the expression in his eyes to realize that he'd been standing there the whole time. He'd seen everything.

She wrenched her arm away and took off down the steps, although she didn't start running until she hit the path around the corner of the building.

🏹

Of course she heard footsteps behind her almost immediately.

She slowed down because she knew he could keep up with her long after she had exhausted herself.

"You don't have to come after me, I'm fine," she threw over her shoulder, not looking at him.

"I know I don't. I just want to take a walk with you, ok?"

"Fine." God, what kind of special torture was this? She still couldn't look at him. So she just kept going, silently and swiftly, trying to do something with what was in her mind.

At the pace they were going, they made it all the way to the other side of the lake in under twenty minutes. The camp buildings looked small and toy-like in the distance and Millie could see the old, disused dock with it's small storage shack just around the next bend in the path. She could also see that the sky was darkening to a deep slate grey. That storm would be here soon and it looked like a big one. _Fine_. It seemed to echo her mood anyway.

The way here was narrow, so Millie picked along more carefully, aware of Oliver behind her by a few paces. Suddenly she stopped, a delayed flash of humiliation and anger washing over her.

"Why are you here, Oliver?"

"I want to hike? We're hiking?" He looked uncertain, which seemed so wrong somehow. He was always so sure of himself.

"Look," Millie stopped and turned "I'm really sorry you had to see that." She waved her hand. "Sorry that I involved you." He started to say something, but she kept going, knowing if she didn't say this now, she never would. "But, just because," she took a deep breath, "Just because I like you, or have a weirdly pathetic crush on you—however you want to put it— it doesn't mean you have to be nice to me. Or hang out with me, or _protect_ me. I can handle it. I don't care about 90% of those idiots back there."

"Millie," his tone was earnest but also exasperated.

"I mean, why are you trying to be friends with me?" The words burst out of her mouth.

"I'm not trying to be friends with you. I thought we _were_ friends."

Millie shook her head and resumed walking, her steps fast and her breath faster.

"What's wrong?" he called, closer behind her now.

"I just." Millie stopped and half turned, but couldn't look at him. "I don't need anyone to feel obligated to like me, ok? I'm not a charity case or the nerdy fat girl who needs protection from the bullies. I'm actually considered cool by a good amount of people back home. And I can take care of myself." Millie could feel the tears she'd been fighting well in her eyes and she was so _angry_.

"Wait is that what…Is that what you _think_?"

"Oh _please_ Oliver," she dashed a tear away, "Look, you can stop now. I release you from being a nice guy. You may now leave me alone for the rest of camp."

Millie finished on this defiant note, then finally looked up at him. He was looking down at her and as she watched, his expression— puzzled and maybe a little frustrated at first— started to give way to something. His face relaxed and he stepped closer to her.

"What if I don't want to?" His voice was low and intense, but also held just a tiny bit of a tease. His eyes warmed and his lips lifted ever so slightly.

Millie's heart sped and her insides did a strange flip. What was he saying?

He stepped even closer. They were nearly toe to toe now.

"What if the last thing I want to do is leave you alone?"

Millie opened her mouth but no sound came out. Her mind was spinning in place like a broken bike pedal. And just at that moment, like a too perfectly on-the-nose cue in a bad high school play, the rain started with a ferocious burst. A crack of thunder followed almost immediately after and they both looked up as a fork of lightning split the sky, followed a few seconds later by another deep rumble.

Millie could feel the rain plastering her hair to her head and her shirt to her skin. The raindrops were hitting the earth so hard, they were bouncing back up. She looked at Oliver and he had water streaming down his face.

"Holy SHIT!" he said, looking up again. Just then another bolt of lightning snaked above them. This time the thunder came almost immediately and seemed to shake the ground.

"We should get away from these trees!" Oliver yelled, grabbing her hand, "Come on!"

Millie took it without hesitation and they ran through the torrents of rain to the little derelict shack that sat on the end of the old dock. Oliver wrenched open the door and they bundled inside and slammed it behind them.

They stood there just heaving and dripping for a few seconds, so completely soaked that they almost couldn't move. Millie looked at Oliver, rain dripping off his nose, and started unaccountably, to laugh. Oliver looked at her as she pulled her sodden hair off her neck and attempted to wring it out like a towel, and started to laugh too.

Millie twisted the hem of her camp shirt, trying to get rid of some of the wetness that was making it so clammy against her skin. At the same time, Oliver whipped his shirt up over his head and squeezed it out, then used it to rub his face and hair. Millie felt the laughter die on her lips as she watched him. The muscles of his arms and shoulders rippled under his smooth skin that somehow seemed to glow the tiny bit of light that filtered through the shack's small window. Millie realized she had stopped moving and was just staring. And Oliver seemed to realize it at the same moment, because he stopped his vigorous movements and became quite still.

It was suddenly quiet, but for the drumming of the rain.

"Would you like to touch me?" The question came out of nowhere and Millie seriously, really almost laughed again, it was so ludicrous.

But she didn't. And Oliver wasn't laughing either. She chanced a look up at his face and saw something there that reminded her of their swimming night. A particular focus and intensity. His eyes were very dark.

_What if the last thing I want to do is leave you alone..._

Millie saw, almost as if she were outside her body, her own hand reach out and just lightly brush his skin. Tentatively. One finger then two and then all five. She stroked lightly, over his chest and down his side, softly across the rigid muscles of his stomach. He breathed in and closed his eyes as her pinky dragged quite low, and Millie felt a surge of some elemental power. She skipped over to the back of his hand and he turned his palm up to caress her fingers before they traveled over his wrist and followed a vein in his arm. Her eyes tracked as she traced all of her favorite things to draw. She finished by skimming over his clavicle before finally looking up. He was watching her, his eyes hooded, his lips parted.

He held her gaze for a bare moment before he stepped into her and kissed her, his hand tangling into her hair. Millie felt her breath come out in a gasp and she let her hands run up his back and neck to his nape. God, he was so _tall_.

She opened her mouth, wanting to feel and taste more of him. His arm around her waist pulled tight as he bent her head back, tongue teasing between her lips. She responded enthusiastically but also with a tiny flicker of surprise. If she had thought about a first kiss with Oliver Wood, which yes she _had_ , oh probably a few hundred times or so, she had always imagined it would start sweet and gentle.

This was nothing like that.

" _Millie_ ," he murmured against her lips, walking her slowly backward through the tiny room, until she felt the edge of the old table against the far wall on the back of her thighs.

Instinctively she sat and he moved between her legs, his fingers sliding slowly up under her shirt, soft against her skin. Millie realized with another dart of surprise that she could feel him hard against her, which gave her a feeling of rushing, of humming with electricity or singing like some finely tuned wire.

She ran her hands down his back and he moved away from her lips to her jaw, her ear, her neck, and he was saying things, little things against her skin. About how beautiful she was and how much he'd wanted to touch her. And Millie couldn't quite believe it was real, but she was here and it was happening, wasn't it? The rain was still lashing on the roof and she could still smell the brackish scent of the lake all around them.

But it was also sort of like a dream, because his hand drifted to her breast as he kissed her neck and then he was skimming her thighs, his thumbs stroking the soft inner skin. And it was _Oliver Wood_ doing these things. Not some fantasy, not some poor facsimile of him. It was _Oliver_ and he wanted her—very apparently as much as she wanted him.

And that was probably the most surreal thing of all.

She ran her fingers up his neck and into his hair, then leaned her head back, tilting it against the shack wall as his lips moved over her throat and his hand slipped under the hem of her shorts. Millie's breath quickened and she arched her neck. "Is this ok?" he whispered into her ear, stopping briefly and pulling back to look at her. Millie nodded slowly, _it was more than ok, but oh my god_ , and pulled him in for a kiss. His tongue touched hers just as his fingers stroked under her panties. Sensation flared behind her eyes and she inhaled sharply.

She wasn't totally inexperienced. There had been the guy last winter break and a few others before and since, but she'd never felt anything like this for them, _with_ them.

She'd never felt anything like this ever. The combination of physical sensation and just perfect _giddiness_...

He moved against her and she realized she wanted ( _needed_ ) to touch him too, so she skimmed her hand inside the waistband of his shorts and palmed him. He was perfect there too— _of course_. He groaned into her mouth, his eyes fluttering closed. "Millie, _God_."

The sound undid her and she writhed under his hand, which was now questing and stroking in an extremely effective rhythm. She sped her strokes on him and the shack became a place of sighs and explosive breaths until she came, _quickly_ and hard, on a series of sharp, indrawn sighs. He finished almost immediately after, groaning into her neck and hair.

They stayed embraced for a while—his temple resting against hers while they just breathed. Finally he pulled back and kissed her, grabbing his t-shirt and cleaning up before leaning against the table and pulling her to him front to back.

His arms wrapped around her."Do you believe me now?" A smile in his voice.

"I guess so." Her own sly grin colored her words and she leaned her head back against his shoulder.

"Or," his head slipped down and he nipped at her earlobe, "do I need to prove it again?"

"I mean, _maybe_ ," Millie tried to stay straight-faced, but ended up giggling.

He sighed. "I have been wanting to do that since I stepped out of my car and saw you standing there, in your jeans and boots, looking so fucking sexy."

"Say 'fucking' again."

"What?" his head pulled back and she twisted up to look at him.

"It's very hot. You never say it!"

"Fucking," he kissed her lightly, " _fucking_ ," he kissed her again, "fucking," he ended with a rather intense kiss that caused her to turn around to face him, and twine her arms up around his neck.

"Well I've wanted to do it even longer," she murmured when she finally broke away. Then she looked down, "I really am sorry about being a creeper with my sketches."

He tilted her head up and made her look in his eyes, "those sketches made me so _fucking_ ," he raised a brow and she laughed, "so fucking happy. If all those people hadn't been there I probably would have just thrown you up against the nearest surface and kissed you."

"They made you happy?"

"Yes! Because they were proof that all the moments I'd been thinking about you, wanting you. You'd been wanting me too. That first night at the bonfire, our little archery lesson, the fireflies and our trip into town." He leaned down and kissed her again.

"And night swimming," she said against his lips.

"Oh GOD, night swimming," he groaned, pulling back. "You know why I was out there that night? Why I ran so hard down to the lake?"

"Because you were hot?"

"Hot, ha. Yes. I was lying in my bunk and I couldn't stop thinking about you. I wanted you so badly—I couldn't sleep and all these fantasies—," he nuzzled into her hair and inhaled, " _Anyway_. I ran down to cool myself off. And there you were, looking so beautiful and sleek in the moonlight. It was torture."

"I thought you sounded strange," she shook her head, "You seemed frustrated or something."

"I was!"

"I wish I'd known."

"Well I was about to say something when Cormac showed up," he shook his head.

"Fuck that guy."

"Yeah, fuck that guy." Oliver threaded his fingers into her hair and glanced up out the shack's dingy window. "I think the rain has let up. And I hate to say it, but I think we should get back."

"Yeah, it's probably almost time to get ready for dinner," Millie said mournfully.

He leaned down to kiss her again, "at least we have a couple more weeks,"

"Yes," she sighed, returning his kiss with interest, "at least we have that."

**Day 45**

_**Fig. 9: "Bow Tie"** _

"What are _you_ wearing, Millie?" Lavender looked up from rummaging through her pink vinyl suitcase. "I hate everything I brought."

"I don't know," Millie fingered her choices, spread out on her bunk. A black and white striped dress or that pink thing that Vanessa had made her throw in at the last minute. Was it a tube top, a skirt or a really short mini-dress? Who knew? But she looked terrible in pink.

"Wear the red blouse and your jeans," Pansy called from where she was carefully shading in Ginny's left eyelid with sky blue shadow.

"Really?" Millie asked, "no dress? But it's a dance."

"It's a summer camp dance and you're only there to chaperone. And besides, he likes you in your jeans." Pansy turned and smirked over her shoulder as the rest of the girls giggled.

Millie blushed and pulled her red top out of her duffel. It was one of her favorites—a deep carmine (about as far from the ugly Pigwidgeon orange-red as two colors in the same family could be) with a plunging neckline and slightly puffed sleeves. She hadn't worn it all summer, but Pansy had catalogued every article of clothing she'd brought (" _this cut is great on you, this is ok but doesn't really play up your best features, this you should burn at the next bonfire"_ ) one night when they were both bored.

"I think Oliver would like Millie in a burlap sack," Padma commented, her dark eyes twinkling.

"Yeah, seriously," Lavender snapped her gum and shook out a short, electric purple dress. "You guys are so cute."

"I didn't realize everybody—" Millie started. "Are we that obvious?"

"Uh, yeah." Pansy snorted, "everyone knew all Summer." But she winked at Millie as the other girls all laughed or murmured their assent. "I mean," Pansy put a finishing coat of mascara on Ginny's other eye, "Josh is a fucking monster, but at least his little stunt put us all out of our misery."

"Iron's free if anyone needs it," Daphne called, and Millie slid off her bunk to work on the wrinkles in her blouse. She supposed Pansy was right. Things had been, uh, _rather amazing_ since the day of the rainstorm. They'd had to keep it within the confines of the Pigwidgeon 'staff fraternization policy', but there had been lots of er, opportunity, especially once the sun went down.

Millie's face warmed as her mind lingered … on the bathhouse, that tree in the woods, his very handy car with its big back seat. And last night's bonfire, when he'd pulled her against him as they'd sat down and played with her fingers, then her hair and roasted her several perfect marshmallows, before leaning in to whisper ' _you're_ _driving me crazy, could we please get out of here'._ And then afterward, _mmm_. She smiled and then started as she realized she was about to burn a hole in her top.

"Almost done? My lapels could use a going over," Hermione popped into Millie's view, looking down and brushing at her blazer.

Millie smiled. "All yours." Hermione thanked her and smiled back.

"Makeup time," Pansy appeared, waving a blush brush in Millie's face. She pointed at Millie's top, "Put that on, and come sit over here."

Millie slipped on the blouse and buttoned its pretty shell buttons, then pulled its tight three quarter length sleeves over her elbows. The fabric settled on her with a soft, perfect drape.

"That color on you, God." Pansy murmured as Millie sat down. "You should never wear anything but a deep blue-red. And maybe one less button?" she reached out and popped open the top one, tilted her head and then popped one more. "Yes, that's it. Now close your eyes," she commanded and Millie heard a tiny thread of strain in her voice.

"You ok, Pans?" she asked softly. "Everything ok?"

Pansy paused and sighed. "Yes, I'm fine. Everything is… perfect." Millie opened her eyes and Pansy gave her a sweet smile. Millie put her hand over Pansy's and Pansy turned hers over and grasped Millie's tightly, then let go and straightened up. "Shut your eyes and hold perfectly still or I'll never get this liquid liner straight."

Millie complied and soon Daphne was also there, tugging at her hair, "I'm going to sweep it back on the sides with these combs, so we can see your gorgeous face."

"Should I do her eyebrows?" Pansy asked, squinching up her eyes and tilting her head at Millie.

"Don't you fucking _touch_ those," Daphne quickly cut in.

"No, you're right. Totally."

Millie basked in the attention for once, letting Lavender try different necklaces and earrings on her, feeling pretty.

It struck her that she would miss this, miss everyone… _Everyone_...

 _God_ , it was going to be hard to watch Oliver and Fleur drive away tomorrow.

She and Oliver had talked about it a few days ago, sitting on the dock after sunset, their fingers loosely twined. And they'd both agreed that they didn't want to waste their time together on painful inevitabilities. So fretting about it now was pointless. Millie shook her head and forced the melancholy from her mind. She was going to _enjoy_ her last night, dammit.

Daphne smoothed Millie's hair and stepped back. "Perfect."

Pansy handed her her lipstick and Millie carefully applied it, then looked up. "Well?"

"If he doesn't have that all over his face by the end of the night…Vogue has been lying to me for my entire life." Pansy stepped back with a little flourish and suddenly it seemed like everyone in the cabin was looking at Millie and exclaiming. She blushed and made eye contact with Fleur, who had been even more quiet than usual.

" _Gorgeous_ ," Fleur mouthed, her lovely smile lighting her face. Of course she herself looked exquisite in a simple pink dress and no makeup at all.

Suddenly, everyone seemed to converge on the door in an excited swirl of sweet perfume and chatter. Millie was still looking at Fleur when her brain jolted. _Shit!_ Lupin had given her something for Fleur yesterday at their last class, which Fleur had missed. God, she was such a self-centered jerk. He'd asked her specially to make sure that Fleur got it by today.

"Oh! Fleur!" she called, "I almost forgot! Lupin gave this to me for you." She darted back to her bed and started to rummage in her duffel, then walked over and handed Fleur the large, white envelope.

Fleur went very still. Then she took it carefully, and stared down at it. "Thanks."

"Millicent come the fuck on! This is your night!" Pansy called from the door. Millie looked over her shoulder and then back at Fleur.

"Go!" Fleur said. "I'll be along in a bit. You look beautiful. Tell Oliver I said he's lucky."

Millie flushed and squeezed her hand before heading for the door.

🏹

Oliver was wearing a bow tie, untucked shirt and converse.

Millie's heart did a little swoop when she saw him across the dance floor because he just looked so fucking adorable, laughing at something Blaise was saying and ruffling a camper's over-gelled hair as he walked by. Sometimes, at moments like this, even though he'd had his hands on parts of her body no one else had ever touched and she'd pretty much mapped every inch of his, she still couldn't believe he was with her. Couldn't believe that the hottest boy at the dance was hers.

Millie glanced around. The skinny kid from the kitchen was DJ'ing and someone had hung up a disco ball and some streamers. All of the campers were polished up bright, braces gleaming, Cool Water rolling off of them in waves. A surge of fierce affection for the scene took Millie completely by surprise. She'd hated these dances as a camper and had hid out from more than one of them in her bunk, angrily sketching and telling herself she didn't care.

She chuckled. But everything had somehow changed.

An arm slid around her waist from behind and a low voice tickled her ear, "what's so funny?"

"Hey what about staff fraternization?" she laughed, pulling half-heartedly away from his lips.

"I told you I'm a rule-breaker," he purred. "You want to dance?"

She turned and grabbed his bowtie to pull him toward her, "yeah, ok."

His arms went around her waist and hers slid up to his neck. Millie was feeling a little stiff and awkward at their first real public display, but he held her gaze until she forgot about everyone else and gave in to the pure pleasure of dancing with him—just rotating in a slow circle, stroking the back of his neck, inhaling his clean scent.

The notes of the song faded out. but Millie kept hold of Oliver, sort of swaying in place as the kid from the kitchen—J _ustin!—_ changed the record, incredibly slowly. _He really needed to work on that._ Finally, the opening notes of a power ballad filled the room. "Oh my god, this is the cheesiest song!" she exclaimed, shaking her head.

"I _love_ this song!" Oliver's eyes were bright and his grin was mischievous. He started singing as the first lines started, " _We both lie silently still in the dead of the night_ ,"

"No, no!" she was laughing, holding the sides of his face. "Don't do it!"

He was laughing too, but then the laughter drained from his face and he stopped swaying and just looked at her. "God, you're beautiful," he murmured. "You look so _beautiful_ tonight."

Millie stopped moving too, but she kept her hands where they were, and just looked back at him for a beat. His warm eyes and perfect bones and beautiful mouth. Then suddenly she leaned forward and kissed him with everything she had. _Really and truly fuck the rules or the people watching or whatever_. After a short surprised pause, he met her halfway and it was a few moments before she realized that everyone had stopped dancing and instead were cheering.

She broke away a little embarrassed—but the cheering was warm and the faces were friendly and Oliver just did his Oliver thing and bowed to them with red lipstick all over his mouth, which made them cheer louder. Then he gestured to her until she gave a silly little curtsy and everyone laughed then went back to dancing.

She sighed, wrapping her arms around him again and reaching up to rub at the lipstick. "You're _fun_ , you know that?"

"Oh you haven't seen anything yet. Wait until the fast songs come on."

Millie laughed and held him tighter.

**Day 46**

_**Fig. 10: "Driving Away"** _

So it was 7am and already in the running for the worst day of Millie's life. Even though she'd gotten to stuff the Pigwidgeon shorts in the trash and use the shirt to wipe down the sink after she brushed her teeth.

But she'd been up late after the dance for the counselor bonfire after-party and then even later for the midnight swim after-after party with Oliver. And she'd drunk too much, and although that had been fun and fitting, it meant she went to bed with a headache and then slept for about three hours before waking up in the pre-dawn dark horribly thirsty and yet somehow still able to cry into her pillow.

When the first streaks of light shot across the sky, she'd gone back down to the lake and stared across the water, trying to tell herself it would be ok. They hadn't even actually _slept together_ yet—thanks to the lack of private, horizontal surfaces at Pigwidgeon, as well as Oliver's flat refusal to subject her to the whole piano tie on the door system in the boys' bunkhouse—so she'd technically been more intimate with her fling last winter. _And_ she had school to go back to and her friends and her job. She would be fine. _Fine._

But that was all utter bullshit and she knew it.

She also knew he wanted to get an early start, so she'd heaved herself up and back to the bathhouse for a shower, gotten dressed and combed her hair, put on mascara and her lipstick.

Tried not to cry again.

Almost everyone was still asleep or missing in action, so she walked over to the mess hall and got a cup of coffee, then headed down toward the parking lot alone. Oliver was already there, throwing something in the trunk, checking the tires, looking perfect in jeans and a white t-shirt. Millie paused for a while to just watch him. _Was he moving a little slower than usual?_

As she watched, Ron pulled up in his golf cart and stopped near the car. He and Oliver chatted for a bit and then did that weird guy handshake/hug thing before Ron drove off.

Millie thought she should probably stop being a coward and get down there.

She was taking the first step when there was movement from the side of the lot. She looked and it was Fleur, running over to Oliver in last night's dress. Millie realized with a start that she'd never seen her at the dance.

But Fleur had obviously been ok because she looked radiant now, her grin shining through the early morning sunlight. Millie wondered for a second, and then it dawned on her. _The professor—of course._ They must have managed to work it out. Millie smiled, probably for the last time that day.

Fleur was gesturing, pointing up at the cabins and back toward where she'd come from. Millie couldn't hear her, but she could see that Oliver was intent on her. There was a slight frown on his face at first, but as Fleur continued talking, the frown smoothed out and his lips lifted into a smile of his own. And now he was nodding and then he was giving Fleur a brief, tight hug then holding her out and looking at her before she smiled sweetly and he let her go—back in the direction she'd come from.

Oliver watched her for a minute and then took a deep breath and peered around, looking like he was scanning for something. Almost involuntarily, Millie stepped out from the trees. He caught sight of her and stopped. Something passed over his face and he started jogging toward her.

Watching him run, Millie felt that familiar urge to have her charcoals at hand, so she could capture his beauty, the platinum threads shot through his hair...

Before he could get any further, she ran to him.

They met and he only had time to say, "Millie," once, before she pulled him to her and kissed him. She tried to pour every feeling she had into the kiss. To let him know how much he'd meant to her and how much she'd miss him. It crossed her mind that she didn't know if she could do this at all; say goodbye. And he was giving back as good as he got, burying his hand in her hair and pulling her so tightly against him that she gasped.

Finally he pulled back and looked at her, the expression on his face so tender. Millie could feel the hot tears welling in her eyes and threatening to spill over. "I don't know if I can—" she started.

"Milllie, Fleur is staying," he interrupted her. "With the professor." He stopped, took both her hands and said in a rush, "Do you want to drive to California with me?"

Millie's mouth dropped open and several thoughts collided in her head: The fact that school wasn't starting for another month, the spectre of being the unwanted third wheel with Vanessa and her boytoy, the not insignificant pile of money she had in the zipper pocket of her duffel since she'd spent barely a cent of her Pigwidgeon wages.

"It will take just over a week to get there if we take our time," Oliver was saying, "And once we're there I'm supposed to house sit for my aunt for another few weeks. She has a place right on the beach and—"

"YES!" Millie cut him off, "Yes, I want to go to California with you. Yes, yes, YES!"

The last syllable was a shout and Oliver laughed when he heard it, then covered her lips with his, gently and sweetly. 'I'm so glad," he murmured, running his thumb over her cheek.

"Me too," Millie breathed.

They looked at each other just as the morning sun crested the trees. The light lay in bright beams across Oliver's face, warming the deep brown of his eyes and sparking the gold of his lashes.

"Go get your stuff," he said, giving her a last smacking kiss.

"I'll be back in five," she promised, turning to go.

"Oh and you know," he said, crossing his arms and grinning at her. "I can't be expected to drive 2,800 miles all by myself."

"What?" Millie turned back around.

He pointed at her, "you're going to learn how to drive."

"No! On that thing!?"

"It will be fine," he put his palms up, "I'll teach you."

🏹🏹🏹

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know why these two characters lodged themselves so firmly into my head one night during a discord chat with the other ladies of the Spring Fling 2020 crew, but they DID. SO clearly and fully realized. I'm happy to share them with you and I hope you are rooting for them as much as I am.  
> Spoiler alert: Oliver gets drafted by the Mets and moves to NY to be with Millie and they live HEA!!!!!


End file.
